Steven Schroeder | תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ
Every tall flower is at prayer after yesterday's storm,
and I want to believe this act of devotion will be
enough to bend the long arc of the universe to justice.
But I can imagine Peter saying me me
call on me, then feeling at sea
after a few brash steps
when the wind stirs
on the face of the water,
heart in his throat, wondering
if this cosmopolis was platted
with chaos for a measuring stick,
a jumble of stones, a planet burning,
and no one at hand
to say let light be.
Chicago
13 July 2023
